


Troubled for You

by Magicofisis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-13
Updated: 2005-11-13
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magicofisis/pseuds/Magicofisis
Summary: Harry battles with depression during the summer after fifth year. Ron offers to cheer him up, and the two of them redefine their friendship.





	Troubled for You

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Warnings/Notes: None, really. It's a little angsty. This is the fic that I would have submitted to the [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=harry_and_ron)[**harry_and_ron**](http://www.livejournal.com/community/harry_and_ron/) FQF if I'd gotten it done in time. Heartfelt thanks to the marvelous Kate who is exceptional in so many ways. *hugs Kate* The title is from an old song sung by Michael Johnson, and my favorite line is: "It's time you waste for them that makes a friend a friend, unique in all the world until the end."  


* * *

Harry hadn’t been out of the house on Privet Drive for three weeks. He had only taken five showers in that time, and those were against his will. He’d smelled so horrible that Aunt Petunia threatened to lock him out of his room the next time he went to use the toilet. One or two bites at each meal was enough to keep his stomach from complaining too much, and Dudley had suspiciously accepted Harry’s offer of the rest of his food at mealtimes. It was the first summer since Harry had gone to Hogwarts that he had not taunted Dudley with pretend magic; it simply took too much effort to wind him up. In fact, Harry had as little to do with the Dursleys as possible, preferring to spend nearly all of his time closed up in his room, sleeping and trying to forget.

Harry was so caught up in his depression and self-pity that he forgot to send Hedwig to the Order for his three-day check-in. When Remus Lupin showed up at the doorstep in the middle of the fifth day, Petunia Dursley graciously invited him into the lounge.

“I think you ought to know,” Petunia said with distain, “that the boy has hardly left his room and hasn’t been out of the house in weeks. I don’t know what they did to him at that… school, but he’s been nothing but a burden to us, and I’d thank you to take him and his adolescent snit fit off our hands at your earliest convenience. Perhaps he could stay with those… Whirlies.”

Lupin fought back a laugh. “Weasleys, you mean?”

“Yes, them. They seem to actually enjoy having the boy around. To each his own, I suppose.”

Lupin left Privet Drive that afternoon with a deeply held conviction that they needed to get Harry out of there as soon as possible. Harry had seemed listless and vague and emaciated, reminding Lupin of his own typical state after each monthly transformation. It was not a pretty sight. The problem was: where could he go that would be safe from Voldemort and from himself?

* * * * *

  
“Professor Dumbledore reckons that this is the safest cottage in all of Britain,” gushed Ron, as the echo from Lupin’s Disapparation faded away. “I can’t believe it, Harry. You and me, together, with no grown-ups to bother us except to bring us food. We can do anything we want all day long.”

Harry gave his friend a half-hearted smile. “Yeah. Great.” He looked around at the tiny cottage. Under other circumstances, it would be a great adventure to spend his summer with Ron in this little hut by the sea. But the fact was that no matter what Harry did, he couldn’t change his circumstances – kill or be killed, die or face life without Sirius. Nothing mattered to him anymore. It was very tempting to throw himself off the cliff on which their cottage was perched. Then Voldemort would be someone else’s problem and he could be with Sirius and his parents.

But being around Ron made it impossible for Harry to sink into his routine of sullen despair. Ron seemed to be perpetually cheerful. Even when he was grousing, such as when he talked about the Chudley Cannons or Snape’s treatment of Neville, there was no real venom in his voice. Why couldn’t Ron see that their lives were all a big joke; that they were pawns in some great battle between Good and Evil? This wasn’t just Wizard’s Chess, where the players were demolished and then set up again for the next match. Every time Harry tried to dwell on these thoughts, Ron would come bounding up to him with a new idea or his broom and want Harry to do something with him. Or Harry would try to rest, but be unable to fall asleep because of Ron’s incessant whistling in the next room.

They were going to have to talk.

Harry sat down next to Ron at the small table in the kitchen after cleaning up the breakfast dishes. This would be a perfect time to ask Ron to back off, as Ron was still groggy from the early hour and the large meal he’d just consumed.

“Ron, please don’t take this the wrong way, because you’re still my best mate, but you’re starting to get on my nerves,” said Harry quietly, his gaze focused on a burn mark on the table. When Ron didn’t respond immediately, Harry looked up. Instead of seeing anger on his friend’s face, however, he saw a hint of amusement and a wide-eyed expression.

“Blimey, Harry, we’ve only been here for three days! Fred and George gave you a week before you were ready to hex me, and Hermione figured it would be a month.”

A surge of anger shot through Harry. “So you’ve all been making fun of me, trying to guess when I’d finally crack? That’s rich. I thought you, at least, were my friend.” Harry tried to get up, but Ron pulled his arm so that he fell back into his chair.

“Come on, Harry. Lighten up. Fred and George also gave us two weeks before we started shagging each other, so I think we know how seriously we can take them.” Ron hadn’t let go of Harry’s arm, just in case Harry had designs on leaving again. “I volunteered to be the one to cheer you up because you’re my best friend and that’s my job. Besides, I know you better than Hermione does, and better than Dumbledore…even better than Sirius did.”

At the mention of Sirius, Harry erupted in a rage the likes of which Ron hadn’t seen since the time his mum found out about the twins’ little prank on Great Uncle Stanton, which caused a family feud for nearly two years.

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT, RON! SIRIUS KNEW ME. SIRIUS KNEW EXACTLY HOW I FELT!” yelled Harry at the top of his voice. Then he became so angry that he was no longer able to yell in complete sentences, although Ron was able to pick out a few colorful, descriptive phrases that were thrown into the mix. When he’d nearly screamed himself hoarse, Harry finally noticed that Ron wasn’t reacting to his outburst, so he glared at him.

“Are you through yet?” asked Ron calmly.

Harry looked at him in disbelief. Hadn’t he heard a word that Harry had been saying? He should be upset, or crawling under a table, or frowning contritely at the very least. But Ron was just sitting there, expressionless, patiently waiting for Harry to finish throwing his tantrum. It was infuriating. He answered Ron’s question with a grunt.

“Harry, I never said that Sirius didn’t know you. All I said was that I know you better. And I still believe that. I’ve watched you choking on your guilt and grief since June. And I can’t stand to see you so upset. Harry, you didn’t become the Boy Who Lived again just to become the Boy Who Slowly Went Round the Twist. Whatever is eating you, you have to work through it, mate.”

Ron Weasley, the boy with the emotional range of a teaspoon, as Hermione so aptly put it, had the audacity to essentially tell Harry to stop whinging and get on with his life. Ron had no idea what he was talking about. You didn’t just “deal” with having to save the entire goddamn wizarding world and then move on! Harry had one response to that.

“Fuck you.” Harry jerked his arm away from Ron and stormed off to the bedroom to wallow in self-pity.

“That went well,” muttered Ron to himself. He found a piece of parchment and a quill and started to write.

* * * * *

  
When Molly Weasley arrived with a four-course meal, she was disappointed to find Ron lounging on the sofa with a book and Harry sleeping fitfully in the bedroom.

“He’s been in there all day, Mum,” sighed Ron. “We had our first blow-out this morning, and now he’s not talking to me.”

“He’ll come around,” Molly said. “I’ll just call him for dinner.”

“Mum…” called Ron, but there was no stopping Molly Weasley when she was determined to do something. One of her sons, the raven-haired one, was unhappy, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

Harry emerged with Mrs. Weasley ten minutes later, his clothes rumpled and his hair looking a fright. He sat down at the table, and eyed the delicious food that Ron had just dished up for them.

Molly gave Ron a warm hug, saying, “Someone will be by again tomorrow, dear. Pleasant dreams.” Then she turned to embrace Harry as well, and said, “Think about what I told you, Harry.” She Disapparated with a pop.

“Look, Ron, I’m sorry,” Harry said sheepishly.

Ron grinned. “No need to apologize, Harry. It’s not every day a bloke is told to ‘fuck off’ by his mate. I figure I must have hit a pretty good-sized nerve there.”

Harry picked up his fork and began eating, in spite of his self-inflicted hunger strike. He’d always been a sucker for Mrs. Weasley’s cooking.

“I’m just curious – what did Mum do to get you out of bed?” Ron asked between bites.

Harry chuckled. “She said that if I didn’t get my arse out here and make up with you, then _she_ would move in instead and we’d have to eat _your_ cooking for the rest of the summer.”

“She’s always known exactly what to threaten to make you do what she wants. She’s right scary sometimes,” said Ron, shaking his head.

“Yeah.” Harry took another bite of food and shoved his plate aside. His stomach had shrunk so much from not eating for four weeks that he was uncomfortably full after five or six bites. Still, food tasted good to him, better now that he’d made up his mind about what to say to Ron.

Harry thoughtfully surveyed his friend, who was ingesting his dinner at an alarming rate. He believed he knew Ron as well as Ron thought he knew Harry, but what if he was wrong? What if Ron was keeping secrets from him too? Mrs. Weasley had given him a lot to think about in the short time they spoke: Ron was going to be Harry’s friend whether or not Harry wanted him to be, so Harry had best figure out what the terms of that friendship were going to be. They could be best mates or acquaintances. Did Harry want him to be someone he could talk to about anything, or someone whose company he enjoyed, like Neville or Dean or Seamus? When put that way, he realized how much he valued his closeness with Ron, and how unfair it would be for Voldemort to take that away from him as well.

Ron finished his meal, as well as some of Harry’s, and pushed back his chair from the table. He noticed Harry staring at him with an odd expression on his face. “What – do I have food all over my face?”

Harry swallowed hard. “Huh? Er, no. You’re fine. I’m sorry; I just have something on my mind that I wanted to ask you.” Harry could feel his insides shaking as badly as if he was about to have an Occlumency lesson with Snape.

“All right.”

“Do you have any secrets you’re keeping from me? You don’t have to tell me what they are, but I’m just wondering if you have any.” Harry’s eyes locked on Ron’s and he knew Ron wouldn’t lie to him.

Ron thought for a few moments, wondering what had prompted this particular question. Finally, he answered, “I’m sure there are things I haven’t told you, but I can’t think of anything I’m deliberately hiding from you. You’re my best friend, Harry. We shouldn’t have any secrets.” He watched Harry shift nervously in his chair.

“I have one.” Harry rubbed his face with his hands. Damn, this was hard – much harder than he thought it would be. “It’s big.”

“Oh.” Ron smiled at him blandly, not saying a word. Either he was in shock, or he was afraid that if he said the wrong thing, Harry would stomp off to the bedroom again. Perhaps Ron _did_ know him better than anyone.

“I know what was in the prophecy.”

Of all the secrets Harry could have hidden from him, this was the one Ron was least expecting. “But Neville said you couldn’t hear it when it broke. How’d you find out?”

Harry closed his eyes, trying not to remember the incident in Dumbledore’s office. “Professor Dumbledore told me the next day… after it broke.”

The three of them, Harry, Hermione and Ron, had discussed numerous times what a shame it was that the prophecy had been broken before anyone had gotten to hear it. And all this time, Harry had known. But if he hadn’t said anything, then…

“It must be bad,” observed Ron. “Otherwise you would have told Hermione and me.”

“It’s not good. I think I’m ready to tell you now. But are you certain you want to hear about it?” Harry asked apprehensively. “Because it’s more disturbing than that time we almost became acromantula food.” Ron nodded his head, albeit less enthusiastically that he would have before Harry’s vivid characterization of the prophecy’s nature.

Harry stood up from the table and motioned to Ron to follow him to the little couch by the fireplace. He lit a fire with his wand, grateful that even if the Improper Use of Magic Office could tell that he’d done magic, they’d never be able to find him. He flopped down next to Ron on the couch.

A deep sigh escaped from Harry’s mouth. He knew that telling Ron about the prophecy was the right thing to do, but he hadn’t shared this information with anyone, and he didn’t think Dumbledore had either. He swallowed hard. Time to be a Gryffindor.

“I should probably start by telling you what happened at the Ministry of Magic after… after… S-Sirius was killed,” began Harry, his voice wavering slightly at the memory of that night. “I dueled with Bellatrix Lestrange. I was so upset about what she did to Sirius that I wanted to kill her. I—I even tried to cast Cruciatus on her.”

“Gods, Harry!” interrupted Ron, his eyes wide with amazement.

Harry glanced up to read Ron’s reaction, but he couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, so he turned his head to stare at the fire again. “I was so angry. I was taunting her about what Voldemort would say of her failure to get the prophecy, and she didn’t believe me, and then suddenly, he was there.”

He knew Ron had heard that Voldemort had entered the Ministry, but it was clear from the frightened expression on his face that he hadn’t been told the whole story. Harry continued to describe in detail how Voldemort and Dumbledore had battled – how Dumbledore had transfigured the statues to protect him, and then how Voldemort was trapped in the fountain. As Harry spoke, he almost forgot Ron was there – he was reliving the nightmare aloud as he’d done in his head every day that summer.

Finally Harry said, “After that, Voldemort possessed me, Ron. The pain was unbearable. I wanted to die. He was…Dumbledore thinks Voldemort was trying to trick him into killing me.”

Harry paused, the feelings of emotion and horror so profound that he couldn’t speak. He barely noticed Ron taking hold of his hand and entwining their fingers. Harry suddenly had second thoughts about telling Ron about the prophecy. It seemed like speaking the words aloud would make it seem all that more real, and Harry had been working pretty hard on his denial all summer. Once Ron knew, there would be expectations, and worry, and…well… quite frankly, he was worried that Ron would be so freaked out about Harry being a marked man, that he’d be rejected. Harry looked down and saw his white-knuckled hand nearly crushing Ron’s, so he loosened his grip but didn’t let go.

“Sorry,” Harry choked. “It’s really hard to say this.” Ron’s other arm, which had been carelessly thrown over the back of the couch behind him, moved so that his hand rested lightly on Harry’s shoulder. It felt comforting.

“Go on, Harry,” prompted Ron. “It’ll be okay.” There was poorly disguised look of fear on Ron’s face, but he was trying his best to hide it from Harry.

Harry took a deep breath and went on to tell Ron about the prophecy. As he listened, Ron gasped audibly and pulled Harry towards him, holding him close. Harry could feel Ron’s arms trembling even as he whispered, “Harry, you can’t…”

Instinctively, Harry wrapped his arms around Ron, wanting to comfort him, even as he himself was being comforted. Ron was taking the news of Harry’s fate worse than he’d feared, and Harry felt terribly guilty for upsetting him.

“I’m sorry, Ron,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Ron pulled away slightly so that he could look Harry in the eye. “I’m glad you told me,” said Ron fiercely. “But why the hell does it have to be you? Why couldn’t they have chosen somebody else? I can’t… There’s no way I could… Shit, Harry, we’ve got to kill that bastard.”

Harry smiled faintly at Ron’s unfaltering loyalty. “There’s no ‘we’ in the prophecy, Ron. It’s just me. I’m the only one who can do it.”

“Well, it didn’t say you couldn’t have help, did it? I’ve been your ‘second’ ever since we were eleven, remember? I’m not about to stop now.”

Ron’s expression was so sincere, so loyal, so determined, that Harry couldn’t help but feel a surge of love for his best mate. Ron knew full well the danger he was offering to put himself in, and he did so without hesitation. Harry managed to choke out a “Thanks” over the large lump in his dry throat.

Harry and Ron realized they were still in each other’s arms at exactly the same moment. They pulled away, embarrassed that they were clinging to each other like scared children. Except that they felt like scared children, and it was rather nice to have someone to hug.

Ron stood up abruptly. “Let’s go flying,” he said. “I don’t want to sit around here thinking about… stuff.”

Harry stood up too, and grabbed Ron’s arm before he could turn away. “Are you gonna be okay? Because I’ve had a long time to get used to the idea, and it still freaks me out.” Harry wasn’t certain when his role had changed to that of ‘comforter,’ but to have Ron stand up for him like he did had really made an impact on him.

“I think I’m still in shock,” Ron answered. His eyes met Harry’s, and they shared a connection that both felt but neither understood. “But I’ll be all right. Just don’t shut me out again, Harry.”

Harry nodded. “I haven’t told anyone else, you know. I just couldn’t bear to see the pity that would be on all their faces, or to raise all their hopes that I could actually, you know, kill him.”

That was it, then. He’d confessed to Ron his inner most fear about the prophecy: that he would fail at his destined task, resulting in his own death and countless others at the hands of the Dark Forces.

Ron headed towards the front door to the cottage. “Come on, Harry. You’re never going to defeat You-Know-Who unless you get plenty of food, fresh air and exercise.” He grabbed their broomsticks and tossed Harry his Firebolt before heading outside. Harry followed, his heart considerably lighter than it had felt in weeks.

* * * * *

  
Despite feeling better after having shared his secret with Ron, Harry did not snap out of his sullen mood. If anything, he added another worry to his very long list of concerns, as it seemed that Ron was determined to help prepare him for the pending confrontation with Voldemort, whenever that might be. Harry wouldn’t be able to stand it if he were responsible for yet another death of someone he cared about, and there was no doubt in his mind that Voldemort would kill Ron as a way to hurt him if given the opportunity.

Harry glanced at the clock and noticed that he’d spent most of the day in bed wallowing in his misery. One of the grown-ups would be along soon to check up on them; he thought he’d better make himself presentable so that they wouldn’t worry.

He poked his head outside the bedroom door, wondering what Ron was up to. He hoped Ron wasn’t too angry; Harry was certain Ron hadn’t thought he spend so much time alone when he’d agreed to stay with Harry. Harry spotted him at the writing desk in the corner of the room, surrounded by several rolls of parchment. It wasn’t the first time Harry had discovered Ron hunched over the desk, writing feverishly. When he’d asked about it, Ron had said he was working on new product ideas for Fred and George. This time Harry nearly made it all the way across the room before Ron noticed he was there.

“Oi, finally showing your face, I see,” Ron said cheerfully, as he shifted to block Harry’s view of the parchment on which he’d been writing.

Harry sighed and craned his neck to see if he could read Ron’s parchment, but Ron moved at the same time. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you needed to be subjected to me. Sorry I’m such lousy company.” He moved so that he was leaning against the desk, and watched Ron scramble to roll up the parchment. “So what are you writing that’s so secretive?”

Ron took out his wand and vanished the rolls of parchment with a quick spell. “I told you – just some joke ideas. They’re kind of stupid, though, and I don’t want you making fun.”

Harry was about to spout off a clever response, when he was interrupted by the loud crack of someone Apparating. Today’s visitor was Mr. Weasley, and he was carrying a cauldron of stew and a letter.

“Hullo, boys,” Mr. Weasley said. “Harry, glad to see you’re up and about. Ron, this came for you early this morning.” He handed the letter to Ron, who anxiously tore it open.

“It’s from Seamus!” he announced.

While Ron read through the letter, Harry exchanged pleasantries with Mr. Weasley. When he’d finished, Ron handed the letter to Harry. “Here, have a look at this.” Harry quickly scanned it. Seamus had been to a Quidditch match between the Kenmare Kestrels and the Chudley Cannons (the Cannons had been soundly defeated), and he couldn’t resist the temptation to rub Ron’s face in it a bit. He also mentioned a girlfriend – a Muggle, in fact – with whom he’d been spending most of his free time.

After Mr. Weasley left, Harry and Ron sat down to eat the stew and talk about the news from Seamus. “I wonder how he’s keeping the fact that he’s a wizard from her?” mused Harry.

“Oh, well, you know Seamus; he’s so thick with the blarney that she probably wouldn’t believe him even if he did magic right in front of her. Besides, he can’t do magic; he’s still under age, too.”

Harry chuckled. “You’re probably right. Wow, Ron, everyone’s starting to pair off, aren’t they? First Dean, and now Seamus. I guess you and I don’t have to worry about being the last to start dating with Neville around, though.”

“Er, not quite, Harry. I forgot to tell you. Do you remember that Ravenclaw girl – Lisa Turpin? Well, it turns out that her father owns a greenhouse not far from Neville’s and he started hanging out there this summer—”

“Neville’s going out with Lisa Turpin?” exclaimed Harry.

“Looks like it.”

Harry didn’t know what to make of this news. It shouldn’t have seemed odd – Neville was nearly sixteen too, and lots of boys started dating at his age. It’s just that he hadn’t given girls more than a passing thought since that disastrous outing with Cho Chang. Was he the only sixth year who couldn’t care less about dating?

Harry eyed Ron cautiously. “So what about you? Do you like any girls?”

“Me? Oh, well, I guess Hermione’s all right.” Ron shifted distractedly, and Harry thought he might be trying to avoid the subject.

“Would you ever ask her out?”

“What – you mean like a date? What would I do that for? She’d probably just tell me I was doing it all wrong.” He let out a nervous laugh. “So what about you? Do you fancy anyone?”

Harry shook his head. “No, not really. Since that date with Cho didn’t turn out too well, I have to admit that I don’t really see the appeal.”

Suddenly, Harry was uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, so he cleared his half-eaten bowl of stew and began to wash the dishes. What did it matter that he and Ron were the only ones in the dorm not interested in dating? It’s not like they didn’t have plenty of other things – like saving the wizarding world – on their minds.

It was a little while before Harry noticed that Ron hadn’t said anything, nor had he moved from his seat. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts. Harry walked back over to the table.

“Are you finished with that?” he said, pointing to Ron’s empty stew bowl.

Ron jumped at the sound of Harry’s voice. “What? Oh, yeah, thanks.” He handed his bowl to Harry, who was watching him suspiciously.

Harry put his free hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Are you okay, mate? I hope I didn’t say anything to upset you.”

Ron shuddered slightly at Harry’s touch. “No, I’m not upset. I suppose you’re not the only one who thinks too much, eh?” He stood up and followed Harry to the sink. “Fancy a game of Wizard’s Chess?”

“Yeah. Set ‘em up; I’ll be right there.” Harry smiled, thinking that he might have a chance at winning tonight with Ron being so easily distracted.

* * * * *

  
For the fifth night since he told Ron about the prophecy, Harry could hear him thrashing about, which wasn’t all that difficult considering the tiny size of the bedroom meant that their beds were only about two feet apart. “You still awake?” he whispered.

The movement stopped and Ron whispered back, “Yeah. Can’t sleep.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well, have you? Welcome to my life.” Harry fumbled for his wand and whispered “ _lumos_.” Ron was now visible in the faint light emitting from the tip of Harry’s wand.

“No, not really. Sorry, was I keeping you up?” There was an indecipherable quaver in his voice.

Harry’s eyes became accustomed to the light, and he noticed with alarm that Ron’s whole body was shaking. “Ron, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Harry climbed out of his bed and onto Ron’s. “It’s not nothing,” sighed Harry. “I can tell you’re upset. Spill it.”

“Look, Harry, it’s no big deal. I don’t want you to worry about me.”

Harry shrugged. “Too late for that. So since I’m already worried, you might as well tell me.” Harry could see Ron’s grimace in the faint light of his wand.

Ron turned to face him, saying, “I feel a bit stupid about it, actually. I’m scared, Harry. Really, really scared. Some Gryffindor I am, eh?”

“You’d be crazy _not_ to be scared. I’m terrified, myself. Come on – the fate of Voldemort rests in the hands of a fifteen-year-old wizard who probably failed all but one of his O.W.L.s. Any normal person should be scared.”

Ron couldn’t hide the shiver that racked his entire body. He tried to cover it up by shifting under his covers, but Harry wasn’t fooled at all. “Budge over,” said Harry, as he pulled up the corner of Ron’s covers and crawled into bed beside him.

If Harry’s actions made Ron uncomfortable, he never said anything about it. Harry stretched out next to Ron, pressing their shoulders and upper arms together, but making no attempt to hold him. He had a feeling that Ron might not appreciate Harry invading his personal space, yet he knew that if the tables were turned, he’d find contact with Ron very comforting.

They laid there in silence, each of them wrapped up in his own thoughts, unable to sleep. After a long while Ron whispered, “Harry, it’s not just You-Know-Who I’m scared of.”

“What else, then?”

Ron turned to his side and propped his head up with his elbow. “That when you win, you’ll become this big hero and everything. Girls will be hounding you for dates and you’ll be a huge celebrity. You won’t have any time for your friends.”

Harry snorted. “Because, you know, I’m so fond of being famous. I’ll always have time for you, Ron. You were my first friend, and no matter what happens, you’ll be my best mate. You’re the thing I’d miss most, remember?”

“Right,” chuckled Ron. “I thought that might have changed, though, after you so kindly told me to fuck myself the other day.”

“God, Ron, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. You’re still the thing I’d miss most.”

Ron’s gaze bored into him. “Really? More than Hermione?”

Harry was a bit unnerved by the direction this conversation was taking. Why was Ron suddenly insecure about their friendship? Had Harry really hurt his feelings the other day? He turned onto his side and placed his hand on Ron’s arm. “Of course I’d miss Hermione. But it’s different. She’s…” Harry paused, trying to decide how to end the sentence. A girl? A bossy know-it-all? A well-meaning friend with a good heart? He quickly settled on, “She’s not you.” Harry hoped this made sense to Ron, but somehow, he doubted it. How could he ever explain what Ron’s friendship, open acceptance and unquestioning loyalty had meant to him over the past several years? Ron did seem to accept Harry’s answer, even if he didn’t understand it.

They both settled back into their previous positions, with their upper arms pressed together. When Harry heard Ron’s breathing slow, he assumed that Ron was asleep and he sat up to move to his own bed. Ron sensed the movement, grabbing Harry’s hand before he could leave. “Stay,” he said.

Harry lay back down, Ron’s hand still gripping his hand firmly. Before drifting off to sleep, he vaguely remembered thinking how wonderful it was to have someone with whom he could share all of his secrets.

* * * * *

  
Harry woke to the sound of water rushing through the pipes and knew that Ron was in the shower. He put on his glasses and padded out to the kitchen to make some tea. While waiting for the water to boil, Harry glanced into the other room and immediately noticed Ron’s mysterious parchments lying on the desk.

Perfect! thought Harry. In the early hours of the morning, Harry had thought of an idea for a sweet that would turn your skin to a different color, depending on your mood. If you were sad, then your skin would turn blue, jealousy would turn it green, and happiness would make you yellow. Now would be a great time to sneak his idea onto the bottom of one of Ron’s parchments to forward to Fred and George.

Straining to listen for the sound of running water, Harry satisfied himself that Ron was still occupied, so he picked up a quill and the nearest roll of parchment. The first thing he noticed when he unrolled it was his own name written on practically every line. His eyes darted to the top, and he began to read it.

_Day 4 ~ Tuesday_

_Harry has just stormed off to his room and I’m terribly worried that it might be the end of our friendship. I don’t know exactly what I said to upset him so much, except that I mentioned Sirius, and I probably shouldn’t have. Harry seems to be under the delusion that he alone is responsible for Sirius’ death, but if he’d heard some of the things Mum has told me about Sirius, maybe he’d think otherwise. Nothing can be done about it now, though. Watching Harry brood like this is awful. I want to take away his sadness, but I don’t know how. I wonder if he knows that I’d do anything he asked if only it would cheer him up._

The entry continued in this vein for more than half a roll. Harry couldn’t understand it – why was Ron feeling a need to keep a diary? Was it because he was bored since Harry sulked in his room all the time?

Harry read the next entry, which, he realized, was the day after he’d told Ron about the prophecy. He was faintly aware that he shouldn’t be reading Ron’s personal writings, but Harry’s curiosity had gotten the best of him.

_Day 5 – Wednesday_

_I can’t believe what an idiot I’ve been. All this time I was thinking that Harry was upset about Sirius. It never even occurred to me that there might be something more to it. Of course, he should have told me, but I can’t really blame him for not wanting to say anything about the prophecy. I suppose I shouldn’t be so shocked – why else would someone like Dumbledore be so concerned about the fate of one wizard boy? But still, I can’t believe he’d actually let Harry go through with it._

The writing continued to the next roll of parchment, which Harry quickly found on the desk. He had been stupid to think Ron wouldn’t be able to comprehend the implications of the prophecy. From his writings, it was obvious that he understood Harry’s situation perfectly and was horrified by it. His eyes now riveted to the parchment, Harry's mouth dropped open when he read:

_Even worse than all of this, I lied to Harry last night. He flat out asked me if I had any secrets and I denied it. But really, after all he’s been through, and all that he has yet to go through, does he really need to know how I feel about him? And now that I know about the prophecy, I’ve made up my mind to take that secret to my grave. I’ll be the best mate he ever had, and he’ll never have to know why._

What was he talking about? How he felt about Harry? But there was no further explanation – he could be feeling just about anything. Whatever it was, Ron seemed to think Harry wouldn’t approve. Maybe he’d explain later on. The next entry was unremarkable, and ended at the bottom of the roll. Harry rolled it up and reached for a third scroll. It was not the entry for Day 7, however, but started with the first day.

_Day 1 – Saturday_

_I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to write down. Professor Lupin suggested that I keep a log of what happens each day, recording Harry’s moods. I was worried that it would be like spying, but Lupin said that no one would look at it unless Harry’s depression doesn’t improve and they need to go back and look for trends in his mood. Anyway, I don’t have anything else to do while he sleeps the day away. Today I’d say his mood is bad. Well, maybe sad is a better word. It’s even worse than when I got out of the hospital wing in June. And he sleeps a lot. That’s it, I guess._

The entries for Days 2 and 3 were similar. Well, that explained why Ron was keeping the diary. Harry would have gone ballistic at learning that Ron was supposed to record Harry’s moods for posterity, except that he was really anxious to read the entries for Days 7, 8 and 9 to find out more about these secret feelings of Ron’s. Harry listened again for the running water, and heard Ron’s distinctive tenor singing over the din of the pipes.

Harry scanned Day 7 quickly – mostly angst over Harry not eating and speculation about You-Know-Who. Ron described how this was his first experience with insomnia. Harry snorted at that, having suffered from insomnia for years.

_Day 8 – Saturday_

_Dad arrived with a letter from Seamus today. Harry and I talked a bit about girls. He said he wasn’t really interested in dating. Should I read anything into that? I want to be encouraged. Maybe he’s not interested in girls at all. Except that Harry has a lot on his mind, so maybe it’s just that he’s focused on staying alive. I know I would be. I can’t stop myself from hoping. He’s so beautiful, even with his nearly constant scowl and messy hair. How could I do anything but hope he feels the same way about me? No wonder it’s impossible for me to sleep when his bed is only two feet apart from mine._

Harry’s head was spinning. Ron was…attracted to him? It suddenly dawned on Harry exactly what feelings Ron was going to keep hidden forever. Ron must like him – as in, _like_ like. It was unbelievable. Ron was his best friend. Best friends didn’t just start _liking_ each other, did they?

Day 9’s entry was short, focusing on that day’s activities and how Harry had finally started eating normally. There was another mention of insomnia, but nothing more about these impossible feelings.

Harry's jaw dropped again when he saw the entry that Ron had obviously been working on this morning.

_Day 10 – Monday_

_I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. I’ve just spent the most wonderful night of my life. Harry nearly caught me wanking, but I don’t think he realized it, and then he actually climbed into bed with me! It’s just as well that he didn’t touch me because it would have been humiliating if he’d found out how excited I’d gotten just from watching him in the dark. But then it was so nice – he misinterpreted things and thought I was upset, and we talked for a bit. He said that I was still the thing he’d miss most, which means more to me than I could ever say. The whole situation is depressing, though. I wish he didn’t have the prophecy hanging over his head. Otherwise, I’d definitely tell him how I feel. It’s so hard to act normal around him, when what I really want to do is wrap my arms around him and kiss him and, well, do anything else he might let me do. When Mum and Dad first told me about the plan for me to hide away with Harry, I thought it would be so great to spend all this time with him, but now it’s torture to be so close and not touch him. And he thinks nothing of resting his hand on my shoulder or my arm, which sends shivers all the way through my body. Leave it to me to fall for the one person I can never have. I need to stop thinking about him. I’ve got to take a cold shower now._

Harry got to the end of the page and suddenly realized the water had stopped running. He quickly rolled up the parchment and tried to arrange the rolls in the same way they were before. He rushed into the kitchen to make his tea, and having done so, he slumped on the couch trying to look innocent. Ron emerged from the bedroom a short while later.

“Harry! You’re awake! I never expected you to be up before noon.” Ron’s eyes darted behind Harry to the writing desk, obviously noticing the rolls of parchment left there, but Harry didn’t move a muscle. Hopefully Ron wouldn’t ask him whether he’d looked at the scrolls.

Harry smiled at Ron. “Must have been your lovely singing voice that woke me up.”

“Right.” Ron casually sauntered over to the desk, picked up his wand, and quietly vanished the rolls of parchment. If Harry hadn’t known they were there, he’d never have heard Ron’s vanishing spell.

Harry craned his neck to look at his friend. With his wide, muscular back and wavy ginger hair, why had he never noticed how fit Ron had become? Ron smiled back at him, with his eyes lit up, displaying a hint of mischief. The idea that Harry could even be thinking these thoughts about Ron was mildly disturbing, and it made him want to run to his room and curl up in a ball. Perhaps Ron had been right to keep his feelings for Harry a secret – it certainly was sending his brain into overdrive.

Finding his voice, Harry said, “The water’s still hot if you want some tea. Did you sleep all right?” God, he sounded like an idiot. His best mate was so hot for him that he had to take a cold shower, and all Harry could talk about was tea. He mentally slapped himself.

“Thanks,” said Ron, helping himself to a mug of tea. “Yeah, I actually slept for a change. Look, Harry, I’m sorry about, uh, making you worry last night—”

“’S’all right,” Harry answered quickly. “It helped me sleep better, as well.” It suddenly dawned on Harry that he was speaking the truth. He hadn’t had a single bad dream, and only woke that one time thinking about Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. It was Harry’s thoughts now that were upsetting him. He needed to be alone to sort everything out. Ron was staring at him but trying to look as if he wasn’t, which Harry found unnerving.

“I think I’ll shower now,” said Harry quickly. He noticed disappointment wash over Ron’s face, and felt his stomach twinge. He didn’t want Ron to feel bad. “Do you want to go exploring later? We’ve hardly seen anything of the grounds since we’ve been here.”

Ron’s face perked up. “Yeah, that would be cool.”

Harry left the room, but instead of getting into the shower, he crawled into his bed. What in the world was happening to him? Was he so vulnerable and suggestible now that the mere idea that Ron might be interested in him _that_ way was making him consider it? No, because he was quite certain that if he’d found Hermione’s diary and read the same things, he still wouldn’t be interested. And he hadn’t been joking when he told Ron that he was still the thing he’d miss most. But what did that mean? Wasn’t that how you normally felt about your best mate?

Unable to answer his own questions, Harry finally pulled himself out of bed and made his way into the shower. The water was chilly against his skin, and he thought about Ron needing to take a cold shower. Had Ron wanked in here? The idea that Ron might want to Do Stuff with him sent a shiver of excitement to his groin, and he felt himself hardening as the temperature of the water increased. Harry wanked frequently enough – he was a teenage boy, after all – but he’d rarely done it while thinking about a person that he actually had a chance with. However, the image of Ron was planted firmly his head as he deftly brought himself off. Panting heavily, Harry leaned back against the shower tiles, letting the stream of warm water wash over him. He shouldn’t be wondering what that would have felt like with Ron… should he? Until this morning, Harry didn’t think it was possible for his mind to be any more messed up than it already was. _Fuck._

Harry took a long time finishing his shower, cleaning his teeth and dressing. He knew he was avoiding Ron. The more he thought about it – and his thoughts were racing, at this point – the more he realized that he was interested in Ron _that_ way. At least he thought he might be willing to explore the possibilities. But how did one go about bringing up _that_ topic?

* * * * *

  
That night, Harry was still awake when Ron climbed into the other bed. He still hadn’t said anything to Ron about his newly discovered attraction, but they’d spent a very relaxing and comfortable day together, exploring the area around the cottage and down by the sea. Harry had gone for hours without thinking of Sirius or Voldemort for the first time all summer. He wasn’t quite ready for the day to end yet.

“Ron?”

“Yeah?”

Harry was going to say something about the way he felt, but he chickened out at the last second. “Today was fun,” he said instead.

“Yeah,” answered Ron, “it’s really beautiful down there by the sea, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Harry berated himself for being unable to continue, but he wasn’t sure that bringing up a topic like having a romantic interest in your best friend was the best thing to do with the lights out and both of them ready for bed. Harry would say something in the morning after he’d had a full day to get used to the idea. “G’night.”

“Night, Harry.”

It wasn’t long before both boys fell asleep.

*~*~*

  
_Mrs. Weasley spoke to him sternly, asking what kind of a friendship he was going to have with Ron. “It’s up to you to decide how things will be,” she said. Then she was gone, and he was reclining on the couch next to Ron, who was snogging him senseless while he tried to speak. “Ron, we can’t,” Harry pleaded. “I love you so much, but he’ll kill you, just like he’s killed everyone else I love.” Ron wasn’t letting up, though, and his lips left Harry’s neck just long enough to say, “If he wants to kill you, then he’s going to have to kill me too. I’m your second, Harry. I’d die for you.” And then Harry looked up and saw the man with ghastly red eyes and snakelike nose turning around in the armchair, laughing savagely before saying, “Kill the spare—”_

*~*~*

  
“NOOOO!” screamed Harry, sitting bolt upright in his bed. He was drenched in sweat and his heart was pounding like crazy. He was so desperate for breath that he didn’t even notice Ron climbing into the bed with him until Ron’s arms were wrapped around him.

“Shhhhhh,” soothed Ron’s voice. “It’s just a nightmare.” Harry felt Ron gently rock him back and forth, as he gasped for air and tried to get his bearings.

Harry relaxed into Ron’s embrace and tried to focus on the warm feeling of Ron’s arms around him. He swore he could feel Ron’s lips lightly brushing his hair, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from wondering what it would be like to have those lips press against his. He shivered, causing Ron to hold him even more tightly.

“Was it You-Know-Who again?” asked Ron quietly after a little while. “Does your scar hurt?”

“Yeah, it was him, but not like before. It was one of _my_ memories, not his.” Harry held his fingertips to his scar. “It doesn’t hurt. I’ll be fine.”

Ron reached over and touched Harry’s scar in a way so caring and intimate that Harry forgot for a moment that nothing had been said about their feelings toward one another. He caught Ron’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the middle joint of each finger in turn. It wasn’t until he heard Ron’s sharp intake of breath that he realized what he had done. Their eyes met, lips only inches apart, and Harry could no longer remember why he had been holding off from kissing Ron’s tempting mouth. He leaned in and pressed their lips together, never taking his eyes off Ron’s. Ron kissed him back, gently and reverently, and then pulled away with a questioning look and the beginnings of a smile.

“Harry? Um…you…” stuttered Ron, who was obviously shocked and pleased. “I, um… wow.”

Harry felt stupid all of a sudden. He’d just taken advantage of his best friend’s care and concern about his nightmare. Ron didn’t seem too unhappy about it, though.

“Is, er, what we just did okay with you?” Harry asked shyly.

“Better than okay,” said Ron enthusiastically. “I just didn’t think you’d want to.”

Ron leaned over and kissed Harry awkwardly. It felt a lot different than kissing Cho, which was Harry’s only frame of reference. He was nervous, but excited too. Ron’s lips felt soft on his, and as they taught themselves how to kiss by trial and error, Harry gradually felt his anxiety dissipate. He hadn’t realized that kissing – well, kissing the right person – could cause such a raging hard-on, but there it was. He shifted a bit in his discomfort and brushed up against Ron’s swollen prick for a brief moment.

Harry’s brain immediately started racing again. If Ron was as hard as Harry, and it appeared that he was, then he was going to want to Do Stuff, and Harry wasn’t sure whether he was ready for that. But at that moment, Ron’s tongue found its way into Harry’s mouth, and it was strange but not unwelcome, and he wanted more. God, was it normal for every nerve to be on fire just from kissing? A low moan reached his ears, but he couldn’t tell whether it had come from Ron or him. Harry wanted to moan, though, so he did.

Ron shifted them so that they were reclining comfortably on Harry’s bed. He ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, trailing his thumb across Harry’s cheekbone. “Harry…” he whispered the name like a prayer.

Something about the way Ron said his name sent shivers down Harry’s spine. No one had ever said his name quite like that – filled with longing and desire. Harry was overcome with an emotion that he couldn’t identify, but knew he’d never felt before. He could see Ron’s eyes piercing through the darkness, focused on his face, and then traveling down the silhouette of his body.

“Can I… is it all right if I touch you?” asked Ron in a voice that was much higher than normal.

Remembering what he’d read in Ron’s diary that morning, Harry suspected it was taking every ounce of willpower Ron possessed not to devour him. That idea both excited and terrified him. Why was he being so stupid about this? He was in bed with an attractive, sexy wizard whom he loved more than a brother and who wanted to have sex with him. All he had to do was say “yes.”

“I’m not sure.” Harry could hear the air being forced out of Ron’s lungs as he sighed deeply. He paused, uncertain what he could say to remedy the situation. But the fact was that he wasn’t at all sure this was a good idea. As hard as he tried to ignore them, Voldemort’s words, ‘Kill the spare’ echoed through his head, and he couldn’t get past it.

“Argggh! I am so fucked up. Ron, you have no idea how much I want to, but I _can’t._ ” Harry rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, hoping that he hadn’t just made the second biggest mistake of his life. He was glad that it was dark and he hadn’t had to see the disappointed expression on Ron’s face.

To his credit, Ron didn’t recoil, the way Harry expected him to. Instead, he caressed Harry’s face again, saying, “It’s okay, Harry. You’ve already given me so much more than I ever expected.” He kissed Harry lightly on the lips and then moved to get out of the bed.

Harry grabbed Ron and pulled him close. “Stay. Please, Ron, will you stay?”

“Yeah, okay, if it’s what you want.” Ron settled back in the bed, and Harry kissed him again, snuggling closer. Having resolved the situation for the night, Harry quickly fell asleep, unaware that Ron’s insomnia continued.

* * * * *

  
The next day when Lupin showed up with their food, Ron was supposedly sleeping in the bedroom and Harry was nervously pacing the floor. Things had been awkward between the two boys all day, and knowing it was all his fault, Harry felt terribly guilty. Yet none of Harry’s attempts to apologize improved things. He’d really blown it this time.

“Hello, Harry,” said Lupin with a friendly smile. The smile faded, though, when he noticed Harry’s doleful expression. He quickly surveyed the room before asking, “Where’s Ron?”

Harry sank into the couch. “He’s in the bedroom. I managed to really piss him off, so now he’s avoiding me.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” offered Lupin.

“Not really. Let’s just say that if the tables were turned, I’d be furious with me too.” Harry let out a long sigh that was audible to Lupin even from across the room.

Sitting down next to Harry, Lupin caught his attention with a light tap on the shoulder. “Look, you haven’t asked for my advice, but I’m going to give it to you anyway. You can do with it what you like.”

Harry sat up a little straighter and turned to look Lupin in the eye. “Okay,” he said.

“Do whatever it takes to make things right with Ron. With all that’s going on, Harry, you need Ron more than you know. I sense that you trust him in a way that you don’t trust anyone else; don’t let anything get in the way of that.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s not that easy. Things between me and Ron are… complicated.”

“Most things worth fighting for are complicated.”

Harry was frustrated: how could explain to Lupin how he felt about Ron without having to tell him any details? “He just doesn’t understand how dangerous it is for him to be around me. I’m only trying to keep him safe…”

Lupin gave Harry a pointed look. “Is that what this is about? You’re afraid Voldemort is going to hurt him because of you?”

He glared angrily at Lupin. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not that farfetched to think that Voldemort would use Ron to hurt me. How can I put my best mate in that kind of danger?”

Lupin took a deep breath and spoke with a determined, yet calm, voice. “If you let Voldemort dictate who your friends will be and how you spend your time, then he’s already won, hasn’t he? This is what he wants you to do, Harry: to isolate yourself so that you don’t remember why you’re fighting against him in the first place.”

Lupin chuckled quietly as he continued. “As for putting your mates in danger, well, I believe I have some expertise on that topic. Ron’s not a child; he can make his own decision. Don’t make it for him – that’s not fair. If you’ve leveled with Ron, and he understands the danger and still wants to be your friend, then by all means, take the friendship on whatever terms it’s offered. In fact, thank your lucky stars that someone cares that much about you.”

Harry wanted to argue the point, but as he tried to formulate a persuasive line of reasoning, he fell short. Ron _was_ fully capable of making his own decisions. Harry had leveled with him, and Ron _still_ wanted him. And even after hearing the prophecy of what was to come between Harry and Voldemort, Ron had offered to be his second. Lupin was right – Voldemort would want Harry to reject a friend as brave and loyal as Ron; it would make his job that much easier.

He slouched back into the couch. Now the question was whether Harry had ruined things for good, or if there was still hope for the situation. He figured he had one shot to win Ron over, and he’d better do it right.

* * * * *

  
When Harry emerged from the bathroom, still slightly damp from his shower and wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist, he was pleased to find that Ron had moved into the bedroom and was distractedly leafing through a dog-eared copy of _Quidditch Monthly_. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as difficult as he thought.

“Ron, can we talk for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ron seemed more than a bit horrified, however, when Harry sat down on the edge of Ron’s bed, clad in just his towel. Harry hoped he looked fetching, but as he was now so thin that each rib could be easily accounted for, he was doubtful.

“About last night,” Harry started, “I just want to say how sor—”

“I already told you,” interrupted Ron, “it’s not a problem. Forget about it.” He looked everywhere except at Harry.

“See, that’s the problem. I can’t seem to forget about it. I…I don’t want to forget about it.”

Ron furrowed his brows, and he flushed slightly. “Quit messing around, Harry. You don’t have to do this. It’s not like I’m pining or anything.”

Harry’s feral gaze raked over Ron, wondering how far he should take things. If Ron had written the truth in those parchments, then he was lying and most definitely interested. However, if Harry had pushed him too far away last night, he might still be hacked off. Harry quickly rated his chances better with the aggressive approach; best to let him know that there would be no backing out tonight.

“I’m not messing around, Ron – not this time.” Harry stood up and dropped towel to the floor, revealing a convincing display of interest in Ron.

Ron swallowed visibly, at a loss for words but eying Harry’s erect, flushed cock with something akin to awe. Harry was now completely focused on making contact with Ron’s bare skin as soon as possible. He quickly pulled the magazine out of Ron’s slack hand and tossed it on the floor. Then he crawled up along side Ron and captured his lips in a torrid kiss. Ron finally recovered from his shock to acknowledge a very naked, very eager Harry devouring his mouth, and he answered with a guttural moan that sent a wave of excitement surging through Harry’s body.

“Too many clothes,” muttered Harry, trying his best to remedy the situation by pulling up Ron’s t-shirt with one hand. While Ron took over that task, Harry went to work on his trousers, rushing to free the bulge he knew he would find there.

“Harry, are you absolutely certain this time?” asked Ron in a breathy voice, as Harry pulled his mate’s trousers all the way off.

“Positive.”

Ron’s clothing having been dealt with, Harry stretched out, lying atop the length of Ron’s body. The sensation of Ron’s skin against his was exquisite. Harry captured Ron’s lips again, at the same time, grinding his hips against Ron’s and shuddering at the friction of his cock rubbing against Ron’s. He could feel Ron’s hands exploring him thoroughly: smooth against his shoulder muscles, running past the small of his back to the cleft of his arse. Harry’s tongue plundered Ron’s mouth, searching and tasting, his lips sucking on Ron’s tongue and worrying Ron’s lower lip; still, it wasn’t enough contact for him. He rolled them onto their sides and wrapped his top leg around Ron’s waist to pull him closer. He could hear Ron’s ragged panting in his ear as he licked and sucked on Ron’s neck. He snaked a hand through the very tiny space between them and wrapped it around Ron’s prick.

“ _Harry…gods…_ ” panted Ron.

Harry raised his head just in time to see Ron’s face contort with the intense pleasure of his impending orgasm. Ron’s body shook as he came, and it was – without a doubt – the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. He stroked Ron through his aftershock, and was blown away by the depth of passion in Ron’s kisses. Harry had never felt so wanted and so loved.

He caught Ron’s smile as his cock twitched insistently against Ron’s thigh. Ron rolled Harry onto his back and began to move his lips lower along Harry’s body, stopping at his neck to kiss and lick every bump and hollow. His hands roaming over Harry’s body, Ron worked his way lower, quickly laving each nipple before trailing his tongue down the center of Harry’s chest. Moistening his hand with the remnants of his own come that remained on Harry’s belly, Ron curled his fingers around Harry’s cock and pumped.

“Fuck!” cried Harry.

Ron rubbed his slick thumb over the slit of Harry’s cock, and Harry’s hips bucked, unable to remain still during the divine assault on his senses. Then Ron took the head of his cock into his mouth and sucked. Harry gasped for breath, losing all pretext of control. With a few unconscious thrusts of his hips, Harry exploded into Ron’s mouth.

Harry wasn’t sure if he blacked out, but the next thing he knew, Ron’s mouth was on his, tasting of sex and Ron. His heart was still pounding, and he was quite sure he’d lost the ability to move his toes. But he was indescribably happy.

Harry noticed Ron staring at him in the faint moonlight that was peeking in through the curtain. When he smiled, Ron broke out in a gleeful grin.

“You’re so beautiful when you smile, Harry. It’s good to see you smile again.”

“Yeah? If you keep giving me brilliant reasons to smile, I’ll be a grinning fool.”

Harry brushed the ginger hair from Ron’s forehead and replaced it with a kiss. He wasn’t sure where things were leading with Ron, but he was certain he didn’t just want to Do Stuff with Ron; he wanted to Do Everything. Harry shivered when he realized how close Voldemort had come to taking this experience away from him as well.

* * * * *

  
Later, when his body was fully sated and completely exhausted, Harry’s thoughts wandered aimlessly through his memory as he hovered between consciousness and sleep. As had often been the case that summer, they landed on a memory of Sirius. Unlike the previous times, however, Harry did not find himself on the brink of tears.

 

_They were standing in the gloomy kitchen at Twelve Grimmauld Place: himself, Sirius and the four youngest Weasleys. It was the night that Harry had witnessed Mr. Weasley being attacked by the snake. Sirius had been arguing with Fred and George._

_“We don’t care about the dumb Order!”_

_“It’s our dad dying we’re talking about!”_

_“Your father knew what he was getting into…. This is how it is — this is why you’re not in the Order — you don’t understand — there are things worth dying for!”_

 

 

Harry could remember being horrified that Sirius would suggest such a thing to the Weasley children when their father was barely clinging to life. But now, after all that had happened, he thought he might finally understand what Sirius meant.

Beside him, Ron let out a semi-conscious moan and rolled over onto his side. Harry spooned up against him, wrapping his arm possessively around Ron’s chest and gently pressing his lips against Ron’s back.

Yes, definitely worth dying for. But Harry didn’t want to die – not when he had only just figured out how he wanted to live! He had control of that, though. He alone had the power to defeat the Dark Lord. Well, he was sure as hell going to try. But it wouldn’t be because the Order expected it of him, or for the greater good of Wizardkind. No, the battle with Voldemort had just gotten deeply personal; he would avenge the deaths of Sirius, Cedric and his parents. And he would fight to the death to protect Ron, his best mate, lover, faithful ‘second,’ and without a doubt, the thing he would miss most.

 

_finis_


End file.
